“Lizzie, here, has belonged to the college since she was new. She’s good enough for you yet. Even the new Dean can’t junk old Lizzie.” He patted the steering wheel with all the affection and prized possessiveness of a loving father.
“New Dean?” Gale questioned. “Isn’t Professor Harris the Dean any more?”
“Nope,” the driver said. “Professor Harris resigned an’ this new one come up here about three weeks ago. She’s been tryin’ to make changes we old ones don’t like.”
The girls exchanged glances. They had heard so much about Professor Harris and her rule at Briarhurst. The Dean had been much beloved by the girls. The prospect of a new régime at the college did not particularly appeal to them.
“What’s she like—the new Dean?” Janet asked interestedly.
“Young and purty,” the sour old man said grudgingly. “But she got no business tryin’ to change things that been goin’ on all right for thirty years. She won’t stay long,” he added darkly.
“Why won’t she stay?” Phyllis wanted to know.
“The old ones don’t like her,” he said firmly.
“By ‘the old ones’ I take it you mean the teachers and other members of the faculty,” Gale said.
“That’s right,” he agreed.